


The Fates' Intention

by dummyonastring



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Bad Flirting, Bickering, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Cottagecore, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay Ymir (Shingeki no Kyojin), Historia is a Lesbian, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Lesbian Character, Longing, Memory Loss, No Lesbians Die, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Not a lot just pulling from my experiences, Nudity, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Romanticism, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Temporary Amnesia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Useless Lesbians, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:28:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dummyonastring/pseuds/dummyonastring
Summary: Loneliness was all too familiar to Historia. The only people she knew were her mother and her sister, both whom disappeared years ago. While her animals and her books kept her sane, she always longed for something more. Someone who could understand her.Her wish is finally granted when an unconscious woman appears outside of her cottage. The woman is nearly dead, barely breathing, and bruised. She should have died, but something kept her alive. Is this a coincidence, or is it fate? Either way, the pair are determined to make the best out of this situation.
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. To Care for a Corpse

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I haven't written a fanfiction in three years. This is also my first Attack on Titan fanfic and work on AO3. I might be a bit rusty, so stick with me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ymir learns the consequences of forgetting her coat.

Snow crunched under Ymir’s heavy boots. Frost bit aggressively at her skin, but she kept on walking. Her vision started to blur while her head throbbed. She should turn back. Every bone in her body begged her to stop, yet she preserved. Does she still have legs? She must, or else her body would fall. 

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off after running into something hard. She stumbled backwards, bewildered. How did she not notice the tree in front of her? Maybe she should turn around? The lantern she had been holding dropped to the floor as she reached to grab her head.

No, it was too late to turn around now. Ymir started to run again, now a last resort in order to keep her body warm and sweating. She shut her eyes, since they didn’t work anymore. It was only a matter of time before the rest of her body joined them. 

Another harsh reminder of reality hit her. This time, only in her abdomen. It hurt too much to open her eyes to investigate. Her entire body ached and stung. How long could she keep this up?

_ Lie down,  _ her conscious told her.  _ It’s warm _ .

“No…” she murmured, trying to protest her body’s will.

_ Lie down, warm, safe, comfortable _ , all repeated in her head. She couldn’t give up! If she gave up, they’d kill her. And the only person that could take her life was herself, she’d made sure of it. Her fingers slowly curled around her head once more, begging for her sanity to stay intact. 

“No!” she screamed as loud as she could. She knew it was over when her legs fell beneath her, plummeting into the snow. Ymir fell with her limbs stretched out. The snow seeped through her gloves, her hat, and her coat, eating away at her skin. Nobody would find her here. 

“Is this how I die?” she wondered aloud. She wanted to open her eyes, but no matter how hard she tried, they remained shut. Tears started to well up, despite her efforts to suppress them. It didn’t matter. Ymir was dead, or at least, she was as good as it. 

Footsteps neared towards her, along with something being drug across the snow. She wondered if this was some deity coming to collect her soul. Hopefully, this collector was merciful.

* * *

Historia never expected that she would become attached to the near-corpse that decorated her couch. At first gaze, she assumed the woman was dead. But when she inspected her heartbeat, she discovered that the thumping was dull, but still there. Sympathetically, she heaved her onto her sled and returned home. For hours, she sat at the hearth, fire melting away the icicles encased on her skin, while Historia thought about her fate.

Did she need water? Food? Obviously, she needed warmth. But how much? When she awoke, if she ever did, would she be able to speak? Do basic chores? Was it wrong to prioritize Historia’s needs over the mysterious woman? It’s not like she could defend herself. Physically or verbally. Historia even considered killing her; to put her out of her misery. But she barely had the heart to kill a ravenous fox, let alone a fellow human. 

Eventually, she decided to inspect the body. Historia removed the soaked gloves first, something she probably should have done before. A deep cut was located on her left hand, but it had already dried up. Small cuts littered her right hand that still bled, so they must be newer than the previous one. She made a mental note to cover those in gauze. Her fingers also had a pale quality, with beet red knuckles. Before she unbuttoned the shirt, Historia decided to  _ actually _ look at the woman before her. 

Short dark hair was sprawled out on the brick she laid upon. Her curtain bangs were long and symmetrical and were stuck to her face, most likely due to her constant sweating. Freckles dotted her tawny skin, as if they were placed meticulously along her cheekbones. She couldn’t resist the urge to touch them, infatuated by their craftsmanship. A singular finger traced her freckles as they travelled across the bridge of her nose. Despite her stickiness, Historia found her cute in a way. 

The furrowing of the body’s brow let Historia know two things; one, it was alive and two, she should probably stop. In an instant, she lifted her finger up, only continuing when her face relaxed more. Historia couldn’t contain her smile. Now she  _ really  _ couldn’t kill her. She brushed her bangs to the side for her inspection of the face.

A large bruise protruded from the left side of her forehead, previously hidden under her bangs. Historia flinched. The mark had a rosy hue with few purple splotches. A fresh one, she presumed. Most of it was hidden under the victim’s hair. It had to  _ at least  _ be the size of her palm. Granted, that wasn’t large compared to others, but still a severe bruise. That was only what Historia could see. Who knows what laid beneath her clothes?

Panic set in. Historia fidgeted with the belt, almost breaking it once she figured out how to unbuckle it. She swiftly unbuttoned her gray overcoat, hoping that the woman was okay. Another buttoned shirt was beneath, which was promptly undone as well. Another bruise, the same color as the first, covered the lower half of her torso. It began just above the naval and faded into her pants. 

Historia didn’t want to remove the bottom half of her clothing, but she knew it was necessary. Instead, she moved down towards her feet and tugged at a boot. With a few wiggles, it slid off. She set the black, calf high boots behind her as she moved onto the next leg. Her socks slid off easily with minimal damage to her feet. The pants unbuttoned easily and Historia was relieved to learn that the bruise stopped above her underwear. 

Aside from the cuts on her hand, there was no bleeding. A tight glove would seal the injuries just fine. Her heart started to calm as she slumped next to the hearth. When her heart slowed, her brain moved faster. Who was this woman? Judging by the uniform, she was in the military with no significant rank. Where was her rifle or her comrades? Her scream indicated fear, so maybe they died? But why weren’t they near her? Was she left for dead after her head injury? 

Historia looked at the dark haired woman once again. Pity filled in her chest. An ailment of the mind was certain. No sane person would run into a forest during a blizzard, even with proper attire. She got up again and buttoned her undershirt, leaving the overcoat by the hearth to warm. When Historia looked at her face, she noticed a detail neglected. 

The face was not peaceful. It’s bottom lip was sucked in slightly and the eyes were tightly shut. Eyebrows, although thin, curved downward. It resembled not that of a soldier, but of a  _ fighter _ . One who never gave up, and how she still didn’t give up. She was stubborn, just like her caretaker. 

That’s when Historia knew it was her duty to nurse this person back to health, no matter the cost.

She carried the slender woman onto the couch, gasping for air when she set her down. While she was underweight for her size, she was still heavier than Historia. She barely fit on the couch as one arm hung loose on the side. Historia adjusted her other arm so that it laid flat on her chest. Finally, she dug up an old quilt from under the couch that once belonged to her mother. Tucking it into the corners, she admired her work. 

The woman looked as if she was a sick child awaiting treatment. And that was exactly what she was to Historia. Every day, when Historia finished her daily chores, she would come home and tend to her. Feeding her was a challenge at first, but soon Historia learned how to force open the jaw with only her thumb and her index finger.

Many may question her sanity, but she found herself talking to the body on occasions. She would narrate her day, no matter how boring, before heading off to bed. It was comforting, in a weird way. Sometimes, they would groan or shiver in response, almost as if she understood her. A waste of resources, some may argue, but certainly not Historia. For now, it halted her loneliness. It made her feel loved, wanted,  _ needed _ , to someone else. 

Then, on a remarkably cold night, Historia made the decision to carry the body to bed with her. She would certainly freeze in the living room, even with the fireplace on. After Historia finished her story, she carefully lifted the body, quilt and all, and headed to her room. She was lighter this time, leading Historia to feel a tinge of guilt. Was she not feeding her enough? She tried giving her all she could, but there was little she could afford.

The body made a small  _ thump  _ when it met the bed. Historia wiggled the blankets from beneath her. She lit her room’s fireplace before tucking herself into bed. Yet the fire did little to deter the winter’s vengeance. Before she knew it, she had the woman in an embrace, pulling her on top of her. Historia nuzzled under her chin before drifting off into sleep.

* * *

Ymir’s face scrunched up as her eyes slowly blinked open.  _ Where was she?  _ More importantly,  _ how did she get here?  _ A moment ago, she was sprinting across the streets of a village with a name she couldn’t remember. Now, she lied in an unfamiliar bed, staring at flowers painted on an off-white wall. 

As she began to sit up, she noticed the smaller mass under her head. Pulling back, she realized it was a person, no,  _ a woman _ , with long blonde hair and a soft, porcelain face. 

Her first thought was that she switched bodies. While Ymir had little knowledge of magic, she had heard rumors of such spells existing. She pitied the man who she had switched bodies with. He had a nice life and would not be suited for Ymir’s ‘work’. It would take a lot of convincing for her to switch back. This was  _ her _ life now.

But her bangs were too familiar to be anyone else’s. When she lifted her arm from above the woman’s back, she noticed it was her hand, more or less. A giant gash slivered down her palm, which confused her. Normally, Ymir would remember each injury she received. 

The blonde shuffled underneath her. Ymir’s mouth formed a meek grin. Perhaps the woman was just as confused as she was. Maybe she held the answers. Either way, Ymir felt comforted in her presence, almost as if she was a friend. Someone that she was close to, despite not recognizing her at all. 

Her eyelids fluttered. The cerulean eyes revealed themselves as Ymir stared into them. She noticed that they were the color of forget-me-nots; a serene, soft, blue. They were hesitant to peek out at first, but once they came into focus, they widened. The woman’s mouth slightly opened and her eyebrows elevated. 

“Good morning,” Ymir half-yawned. “Did you sleep well?”


	2. We Have Some Explaining to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ymir and Historia have a talk.

“I-I am so sorry! This is really awkward. I should have waited but you were so cold and you weren’t getting better and I was so scared you would die at any moment and…” Historia rambled on. Her cheeks grew hot and she wanted to hide from the woman in front of her. The body’s piercing silver, sunken eyes were only a few inches away from hers.

“Don’t worry. You saved me, from the looks of it,” reassured the woman. “I’m Ymir. I think we’ve met before, but I can’t recall where.”

“My name is Historia. About a week ago, you screamed in the woods and when I found you, you were almost dead. I thought you were until I heard your heartbeat. I have been taking care of you since then. I live alone, far away from the rest of the world,” she explained before noticing Ymir’s cocked head. “This was the first time I brought you into my bed, I promise!”

Ymir shook her head. “It’s not that. Something isn’t adding up. Am I missing something?”

“You ran into the forest during a blizzard. That is all I know.”

“A blizzard? That’s strange. In the middle of autumn?” 

Historia was shocked. It was winter and had been for years“You hit your head harder than I thought.”

“My head?” the woman groaned as she lifted her back. 

Historia crawled over to Ymir’s side, propping her back up with one hand. “You have not moved in a week. Your body may be slower than normal,” she informed. 

“You don’t have to worry about me, darling. I can take care of myself,” her words slurred together.

“I object,” firmly stated Historia. 

She snickered. “Aren’t you stubborn?” “Why do you want me to stay so bad?” 

“Look at yourself! You are in no state to be alone.”

“You’re too sweet,” Ymir ignored.

“Are you going to listen to me, or are you going to flatter me?” Historia was becoming annoyed.  _ This  _ is how she repays her? She wasn’t expecting her to bow at her feet and immediately be at her servitude, but she was hoping for some gratitude. 

“You talk awfully formal for a hermit.”

Historia removed her hand, sending Ymir back into the bed. The brunette shut her eyes when she met the pillow. That was a strange insult. 

“Do you have a death wish?” her voice came out harsher than expected. 

“How’d you know?” She opened one, pretending to be shocked, before closing it again.

“Why are you teasing me?” Historia was desperate this time, begging for an explanation. 

“You’re so naive. I could be a criminal, a murderer, and you let me into your house? Your bed?”

Historia scooted over to her side of the bed. “Are you?” 

She hesitated. “No.”

“Then why does it matter?”

Indiscernible, murmured words escaped Ymir’s mouth as a reply. 

The blonde sighed. “Can you walk?” 

The freckled woman grunted as she propelled herself upward. Her socks met the hardwood floor while she stared at the wall for a few moments. Then, with the assistance of her hands, she stood up for the first time in seven days.

To which she promptly fell.

* * *

Her knees hit the floor with a loud crack. Ymir bit down on her lip to conceal the tears. Her body was unfamiliar, despite little changing. She felt lighter, weaker, and fragile. Elbows dug into the cold floor, barely supporting her body.

That witch, Historia, ran up to her. Blood rushed to her ears, drowning out whatever she was saying. Two hands joined together against her ribs and her body lifted off the ground, only to be thrown back onto the bed. Was she dying? Did her tricks finally work on her? 

Ymir could make out her name in the noise. She should have never given it away. What was she thinking? It was hopeless to fight back. She couldn’t resist Historia when she scooped her into her arms. All she could do was bury deeper into her arms, close her eyes, and hope that the pain would go away. She hadn’t even noticed she lost her consciousness. 

“You were overwhelmed, so I made you tea to calm down,” the witch smiled weakly at her. 

Ymir looked down at the cup in front of her. “Why are you doing this to me?” She couldn’t help but sound desperate. Historia was dragging her along in her mind game. Does she want her to snap? 

“I…”

“Kill me and get it over with. I hate waiting.”

Historia’s eyes glinted worryingly. “What makes you think that?!” 

“You took my memories and made me weak,” she murmured. 

“Ymir, you are not weak,” she reassured.

“Yes, I am!” she shouted before calming down. “I can’t resist anymore. You took that away from me.”

Historia rushed over to her side again and pressed her hands on her shoulders. 

“It’s your fault!” Ymir accused, her eyes unwillingly tearful. “Put them back! Please!” her voice broke at the desperate plea. 

“I can’t!” Historia yelled back. The blonde shook Ymir, bowing her head as she sobbed. 

“My apologies,” Historia mumbled once the tears dispersed. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around the taller woman, her forehead rubbing into Ymir’s chest.

The truth hit Ymir. “You’re innocent…” she realized. Ignoring the aching, the freckled woman attempted to get up. At her assistance was Historia, whose grip lowered to her wrist. Pulling back, Ymir was at her feet once more. This time though, she didn’t fall.

Neither woman knew how to respond. Ymir looked down at Historia, feeling guilty for the tears in her eyes. Silence filled the cottage. 

“It’s not very chivalrous of me to make a lady cry, is it?” she attempted to ease the awkwardness. 

“What if I did?” Historia whispered.

“Hmm?”

“What if I erased your memories?” she paused before reassuring, “Unintentionally! I would never do that on purpose.”

Ymir couldn’t contain her laugh. “Oh sweetie, that’s not how magic works.”

“How do you know?”

Instead of answering, Ymir shook her head with a grin. She freed her wrists from Historia’s grasp, only to sit down. The cushioned seat was more comfortable this time now that her senses were coming back to her. Historia stood beside her like a nurse to her fragile, elderly patient. With a new sense of vigor, Ymir lifted the teacup to her face.


	3. I Guess I Live Here Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Historia is a hopeless U-Haul lesbian. Ymir is along for the ride.

Historia shifted in her seat. She elected to ignore the improper way Ymir held her teacup. Every part of her, from her unique name to her strange mannerisms, was an enigma. Even her emotions fluctuated. Although that was to be expected from waking up from a one week coma in an unfamiliar location.

Ymir set down her teacup. “You live alone?” she asked, not looking up. 

Historia was unsure on how to answer. After hesitation, she answered, “Yes.”

Silver eyes glared at Historia, sensing her bluff. Historia had to inform her if she wanted to gain Ymir’s trust. “My mother used to live here, but she disappeared.”

The gaze softened to a sympathetic one. “I’m sorry for asking. It’s tough to go through something like that.”

“We will have to wait for the snow to clear up before we help you get home,” Historia changed the subject, uncomfortable with the current one. 

“There’s a slight problem. I don’t have a home.”

“Oh,” Historia was taken aback. “I thought you wanted to go home?”

“All I want is my memories, but you can’t do much about that, can you?” Ymir snickered.

“Do you want to stay here?” The words slipped out of Historia’s mouth.  _ Did she really ask that?  _

“Sure, why not?” Ymir shrugged with a smile on her face. 

Just like that, she wasn’t going to be alone anymore. Those long, eight years were going to be behind her. The thought felt almost unrealistic. One question and three words could cure her loneliness. Historia fought back the water accumulating in her eyes.

"Well, I need to fix you up first," she said as she clasped her hands together in an attempt to keep her professional demeanor. She wanted to hug Ymir, thank her with every fiber of her being, maybe even kiss her. But she was a lady, a Reiss, and that behavior was unacceptable. 

"You're gonna do that for me? How sweet," Ymir's complimentary voice returned in a more genuine manner. 

They had a lot of work to do.

* * *

Ymir undressed, letting the articles of clothing slide off of her and hit the floor. Looking up, she stared at her reflection, decorated with bruises and other small injuries. Historia had warned her before she advised that Ymir bathed. Plus, from what she could remember, it wasn't her first time being injured like this. The only thing that troubled Ymir was where her bruises came from. Whoever did this to her was going to receive one hell of a beating. Once her body stopped throbbing. 

She stepped over her clothes and made her way towards the already-filled clawfoot bathtub. Ymir leaned over it, staring into the water before dunking a hand under. Her body jerked at the touch, yet she kept the hand submerged. It circled under the water, creating small ripples. As strange as it was, Ymir found it entertaining. When she no longer felt the temperature, she stepped into the tub.

The cold water bit at Ymir's skin. Something about the sensation felt her feel nostalgic for a time that she couldn't remember. The thought made her giggle, but was quickly replaced by a sorrowful feeling. Would her memories ever return?

Ymir ducked her head under the water, letting her hair sprawl out. She realized something, she was alive. Truly alive. And what was living without enjoying yourself? She hugged herself, thanking her body for not failing her. 

She creeped up from the bath and looked around for something to wash herself with. Ymir cursed under her breath for not gathering the soap before she started her bath. The euphoria that radiated from bathing must have blinded her. Her hands elevated her body from the bathtub. If only she could find out where Historia hid her products. 

A knock on the door startled her thoughts. Ymir's body wouldn't move. She only looked at the door with horror and embarrassment. 

Historia opened the door; clothes in one hand and the other shielding her eyes. She blindly set the clothes on the edge of the sink. Ymir sunk back into the bath slowly, only keeping her head above. 

"Can you hand me some soap?" Ymir covered her tits, just in case. 

"Oh, um... of course!" Once Historia's back was to Ymir, she released her hand and started fiddling with a cabinet. Porcelain clinked together while Historia closed it with her hips. She kept her head bowed when she walked, eyebrows furrowed as if she was counting the floor's tiles. The pearl-colored jars carefully slid out of her arms and were set against the fringes of the tub.

Historia raised her head with shut eyes. “The larger jar is for your hair and the smaller one is for your body,” she informed, her tone polite.

Ymir hoisted herself out of the bath, letting the water drip down her body. She rested her arms on the edge and adjusted to be at eye level with Historia. She admired the blonde in front of her, noting the slight scrunch in her face, before thanking her. Only one word manifested in her mind as she turned away:

Damn.

* * *

Historia didn't mean to peak. Her eyes failed her, blinked open, and happened to catch a glance at Ymir's naked body. Now, the image refused to leave her head. Tan, freckled skin, with now straight dark hair that came down to her shoulders. Her bony hands and arms, working so diligently to elevate her body. That woman was ethereal, almost as if she belonged in a painting and not this world. Outlines of ribs poked out from under her breasts.

And oh, her breasts were a masterpiece by themselves. Brown nippples were surrounded by speckled skin. Even though they were small, they still managed to enchant Historia. While she was satisfied with what she saw, she craved more. She desired to complete her mental portrait.

Yet all she could do was sit and wait. She didn't want to intrude on Ymir again. Plus, Ymir probably would not appreciate Historia asking to see her lower half, unprompted. 

The door handle to the bathroom jiggled, alerting Historia. She swung around, anxious that Ymir could somehow read her thoughts and confront her. Historia's eyes widened, biting down on her lower lip.

Ymir stepped out in the outfit that Historia had found. They were loose on her, the shirt more so. The cotton shirt was slightly unbuttoned, hanging on her shoulder to reveal her collarbones. Wide, beige pants were held up by matching suspenders, the only part of the outfit that actually fit Ymir.

"Admiring the view?" she chuckled slightly. “It took me a while to figure this out, but I think I got the hang of it.”

Historia nodded, her mind going blank. It was impossible to take her eyes off of the goddess in front of her. Infatuated, intrigued, immobilized by her. Every little detail, everything she did and did not know.

“Me too,” Ymir adjusted the straps. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of Historia slander I have seen today that inspired me to write is astronomical. So thank you, and also fuck you, Historia haters.


End file.
